Bittersweet
by DevilsDaughter8
Summary: Come take a look behind the scenes (literally) of the much anticipated Deyna reunion. A missing scenes/fill in the gaps sort of story centered around Deacon, Rayna and their family as they finally live "a life that's good". Multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there, hiatus fighters! Anyone else going through withdrawals yet? Yeah, thought so. I've been sitting on this story for a while, I changed it and tweaked it and almost deleted it a number of times, but here it is. The second half of season 3 was pretty awesome for us Deyna fans, let's give these writers some credit for a change, I mean sure there was this liver cancer thing going on, but I'll take cancer over Luke Wheeler any day of the week, sorry. All that being said, many times after watching a particular scene or even an episode I found myself wondering "That's it? Why isn't there more to this?", so I thought I'd fill in those in between scenes/episodes gaps the writers have so nicely left and create a sort of missing scenes story. This is just what I imagine Deacon and Rayna would have thought/done if their scenes weren't cut short to make room for other story lines and characters *coughs* Layla and Jeff *coughs*.**  
 **The first chapter begins right before Rayna's wedding to Luke (stop laughing people, I know those four words put together sound even more ridiculous now, but show some respect for that dead story line, c'mon) and covers episodes 10 and 11.**  
 **Many thanks to my beta, my boo, SparklingEnchantress for bearing with me and being super supportive and infinitely sweet and patient. You's da best!  
I didn't have the chance to thank all of you who took the time to leave a review for "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You", it meant the world to me and you guys rock!**

 **I hope you'll hop on this other happy train of mine and enjoy this ride as well, I encourage you to share your thoughts, ideas and critiques. They're all welcome.  
** **Happy reading y'all!**

* * *

T-Minus 7 hours and 32 minutes to the country wedding of the year.

I gave up on sleep three hours and two cups of chamomile tea ago, if anything that concoction has made me more vigil and alert than I was before. Funny thing is I hate this tea and drank it with the sole purpose of falling into a deep comatose sleep. How very naïve of me to think that a cup of tea would quiet my head. That's a job for tequila or vodka or wine...damn I should have gone straight for that half empty bottle of Chianti Tandy and I didn't finish earlier.

The house will soon be swarmed with people: hairstylists, makeup artists, florists, photographers, people magazine's reporters that probably broke the bank to secure the exclusive on this wedding. My hair alone is getting a double-page spread in the magazine special edition that will be on newsstands next week. Hopefully there will be enough champagne tomorrow to get me through all the painful hair twisting and pulling and pinning and curling.  
I feel a headache coming on already.

My eyes wander and as I look around the bedroom I've been sleeping in for the past fifteen years, I realize it looks oddly smaller. It's like the walls are closing in on me or something. Yeah the walls, even the damn walls don't look the same since Luke has come into my life. When exactly did that giant abstract nonsensical painting, that surely cost a fortune just to get framed, replace my girls' portraits? I can't pinpoint when the hell I let him talk me into getting rid of them or of my favorite cotton sheets, or of that insanely overpriced La Mer body lotion only because he doesn't like the scent. Those sweet faces that I loved waking up to were stashed away somewhere in the attic, taking along with them life as I knew it _.  
_ I miss them so much.

Walking into my closet the first thing I see is that white dress hanging off the mirror frame, it's hard not to notice it. Has the white of this fabric always been so bright or is it just the light in the room? It seems a bit too much all of a sudden, too white, too shimmery, just too something. This isn't the dress I'd picked, this isn't the dress I wanted. It's the runner up, the second choice. Paparazzi got a picture of the original dress and in less than an hour it was all over the internet, spoiling the whole thing for me and ruining the one single thing I'd actually decided on all by myself for this wedding. I have no idea what we decided on as the filling for our cake in the end, if we went for the raspberry mousse or the German chocolate or the white chocolate filling, hell I don't even remember if my bouquet flowers are hydrangea or peonies...err...maybe both, I don't know. All I asked Luke for was picking out the dress myself, no second opinions, no meddling, no nothing. I reach out and touch the dress one more time, inspecting its bateau neckline and inlaid diamonds and pearls. This dress is beautiful, it looks great on me, I feel comfortable in it, everyone loves it and yet it's just not the right dress.  
Ironic how I always end up settling for second best, one way or another, in my life.

The ring on my left hand feels heavier than it usually does. I take a deep breath and slowly slip it off. Holding it between my fingers I look at its reflection in the mirror. When I don't have it on I can see it just for what it is: a seven carat diamond. Tonight this is just a ring, there are no particularly fond memories attached to it, it doesn't hold any " _until love us do part_ " hope behind this shiny exterior. It's weird, but for the first time I actually understand why every tabloid in the Country refers to it as "the rock".  
I wonder when it started weighing like one on my chest too.

This isn't the life I'd imagined for myself and my kids when I said yes to Luke. Maybe I should have seen it coming, he did propose in front of seventy thousand people after all. I signed off my every right to a private life right then and there. I constantly feel like I'm on stage giving a performance, even when the lights go out and I'm in the safety of my house. Now my children want to go to boarding school and trade school buses for private jets, I've got complete strangers in my house yelling "cut!" as I kiss my fiancé under the mistletoe and instructing me on how to hang stockings upon my fireplace so that I won't screw up the camera angle with my arm.  
Crazy, this is fucking crazy.

The house is completely silent, the right side of the bed is empty and the voices in my head are getting louder and louder. Maybe I am getting cold feet, maybe Tandy is right this is what pre-wedding jitters feel like. I wouldn't know, the first time I got married it all happened so fast I didn't have the time to actually process what was happening around me, let alone feel jitters or whatever. All I could feel back then was nausea. It's a wonder I managed to walk down the aisle that day without vomiting on my daddy's arm.  
"At least morning sickness is something you will not have to worry about tomorrow," I reassure myself.

Maybe Luke and I should have eloped. That doesn't sound half bad right about now. Maybe, just maybe, that would have saved me from this restless night and the sure-to-come dark circles under my eyes. It's almost funny how my eleven weeks pregnant younger self wasn't even half as scared to get married as my mother of two-Highway 65 CEO self is tonight. I can't find a reason for it. Or maybe I can. That younger Rayna was on a mission, she was on a journey with a destination: giving the life that was growing inside of her a loving home. This Rayna doesn't have a mission or a destination to get to, this Rayna is just purely terrified that thirteen years from now her soon-to-be ex-husband will stand in front of her accusing her of having had an emotional affair the entire time they've been married.  
Again.

The cover of Rolling Stone stares mockingly at me from the spot on the vanity it's been occupying for days now. "The comeback of Country Queen" reads the headline and I can't help but laugh bitterly. This cover came at a price, a big one. I worked my ass off for almost thirty years in this business to get my hands on this much sought-after prize and yet there is not a single thing I regret doing more than this interview. I pick the magazine up and start flipping through the pages until I find it: the infamous thirty-one lines long column I've read at least a dozen times before.

 _Elvis and Priscilla, Johnny and June, John and Yoko, behind every great man is a great woman, but in her case Deacon Claybourne seems to be the hidden secret behind her success. "He definitely had a role in it," admits Jaymes._

 _The star-crossed lovers have started in this business together, with Jaymes front and center and Claybourne - an extremely talented guitar player and songwriter who struggled with an alcohol addiction for most of his adult life – backing her up. Their musical collaboration has produced many hits for the reigning Queen of Country, last but not least her latest number one "This Time". Their collaboration didn't stop at music though, seeing as the two also have a daughter together (ED. Rayna's oldest daughter 15-year old Maddie Conrad, whose real paternity was revealed just last year). Rayna has been married to Nashville's current in-office Mayor Teddy Conrad before and is now engaged to Luke Wheeler, but rumor has it she and Deacon had rekindled their romance before his relapse and the infamous car accident that put Claybourne in jail and Jaymes in a two-week coma last fall. Would the two former lovers still be together today, hadn't Deacon fallen off the wagon?_

" _I don't know," she sighs, "Maybe."_

 _Deacon's alcoholism is something Jaymes doesn't feel comfortable talking about, "It's a painful part of my past, I am just grateful he is sober now and that those days are behind him."_

 _I ask if this is what ultimately broke them up and pushed her to keep her daughter's paternity a secret for so long. "I put Deacon in rehab five times. Five. I tried just about everything to help him fight his demons and nothing seemed to work. At one point he was still sick and I fell pregnant, I had to do the right thing. I chose our daughter over him and I'd do it again if I could."_

 _She recounts how many times she'd come back to her hotel room only to find him passed out on the floor holding an empty bottle in his hand or how many times she'd had to post bail for yet another one of his DUIs. "It was one thing for me to live with him and his addiction, but to put a child through all that? No, I couldn't do that to my baby girl."_

 _Despite all the heartache and sorrow Rayna has been through, "I hold no resentment for him," She candidly says. "We made beautiful music together, we made a beautiful daughter together, we have so much to be proud of that we did together. He and I will never get away from the fact that we were one for so many years. Just because it wasn't written in the stars for us to end this journey together, it doesn't take anything away from what once was."_

 _I notice she uses the past tense when talking about Claybourne, a sign she's probably closed that chapter of her life. And how could she have not? Her impending nuptials to king of country Luke Wheeler are only a few weeks away. Jaymes has happily moved on, whereas Claybourne seems to be stuck on the same page, unable to find happiness for himself away from the country superstar.  
_ " _Of course I want Deacon to move on. I want him to be happy, why hasn't he? You'll have to ask him," is the last she concedes to me on this matter._

It's bullshit. This is all bullshit. I know exactly why he hasn't moved on, he's made his case very clear on more than one occasion. He loves me. It's that simple. But then again nothing is simple or easy or uncomplicated when it comes to the two of us. Not anymore at least. There was a time when all I needed was a blanket, a rusty old guitar and his leg tucked in between mine. That's young love for you, the kind that makes you believe that as long as you've got each other you can face anything and anyone, that you're invincible. Then you grow up, the blanket becomes too short, the rusty old guitar is out of tune more often than not and there's usually three of you in bed when you wake up in the morning, you him and his good buddy Jack Daniels. You're not that invincible together anymore, you're not all he needs anymore. You are just not enough for him anymore.  
Maddie wouldn't have been enough either back then.

Deacon did nothing but prove me right when he walked into a bar instead of his daughter's life when he found out the truth. I would have forgiven him for it, God if only I didn't get into that car that night outside the Bluebird. I can feel tears forming in my eyes. I had to almost die to realize I couldn't save him. That night Deacon gave me the power to feel entitled to thirteen years of lies. When he turned to the bottle rather than to me for help, he gave me the right to turn his proposal down and accept Luke's six months later, he gave me the freedom to make another terrible mistake, to let history repeat itself _.  
_ Damn you Deacon, damn you to hell.

* * *

I jumped in my car and shifted it into gear before Scarlett could stop me. I promised her I would make it in time for the doctor's appointment, but I knew the drive to Belle Meade would take twenty-five minutes without traffic and I will never get to the clinic on the opposite side of town in time. Still here I am, foot pressed onto the gas pedal, listening to some crappy morning radio show.

" _Well, well…not only has the wedding of the year been called off today, there's also a video going viral of Luke Wheeler and Deacon Claybourne, Jaymes's former lover and baby daddy, engaging into a fight in the latter's front lawn."_ I scoff at the male radio host as he dishes on the latest dirt he's got on the Ruke drama.

" _No way!" Gasps a female radio host through the speakers._

" _Yes way!"_

" _But Ruke seemed so happy together."_

" _Well half of Ruke doesn't look very happy in this video, especially because Claybourne is beating the crap out of him here."_

" _Why are you adding insult to injury?"_

" _I'm just sayi-"_

"Oh for Christ's sake!" I turn the radio off and focus back on the road in front of me, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. No matter how much my right hand hurts and how far away my knuckles look from regaining their usual color, it hasn't sunk in quite yet.  
She's called off the wedding. She's left him. Sure just like she'd done with her divorce from Teddy, Rayna didn't bother to inform me with a call, a text or even a smoke signal, but to hell with it.  
She's called off the wedding and today, for that, I can't wipe this damn smile off my face.

I need to talk to Rayna, I just have to look her in the eyes and see what they hold. She didn't exactly come running through my door and thrown herself at me, that within itself doesn't leave much room for hope, but goddamnit she isn't exchanging I do's right now with another man either, that's half a victory for me. Who cares that she told me to move on, she's done that before. If I recall correctly last time that happened I ended up with quite a few fingernails scratches down my back and woke up with a frozen bare butt because a certain someone had stolen all the covers. Moving on isn't really my thing.  
Or hers.

My phone buzzes in the passenger seat as Maddie's smiley face appears on the display. I'm tempted to answer it, but I'm not sure I have the answers to the questions she surely will be asking yet. She's probably seen the video a couple hundred times already and wants to know what's going on. Problem is I don't know what's going on really, so I press ignore and run yet another red light.  
One mile, just one mile more.

* * *

"Did you break up with Luke because you're still in love with Deacon?"

My sister's words hang in the air, heavy and unwelcome. I can feel her gaze on me and look anywhere but at her. I know Tandy will read the answer in my eyes if I dared to look up, just as much as I know this lingering silence is probably an even more conclusive answer. Still I dodge the prying eyes and the question all the same.  
Of course I'm still in love with Deacon.

If there ever was a time when I wasn't in love with him, I can't remember it. Yes, part of why I broke up with Luke is because my heart skips a beat every single time Deacon walks into a room and a shiver runs down my spine whenever our bodies are in close proximity. But this is not just about Deacon. It's about Luke not knowing I'm allergic to eggplants or how I take my coffee or that I still own a VHS player because I refuse to watch Steel Magnolias on anything but the autographed tape Dolly signed for me many moons ago. And this is about me too. This is about the woman I want to be, the mother I want to be, the wife I want to be. None of these women want to be Mrs. Luke Wheeler and that is the main problem here.  
The fact that all these women used to be Deacon's once is just a minor detail, I keep telling myself over and over.

I will always be Deacon's girl, Luke was right. But that's my cross to bear, it isn't his any more than it was Teddy's. Part of me will always live in fear that things will go wrong and I'll be left picking up the pieces of yet another broken heart. Because that's what being Deacon's girl means: heartache. All I've known Deacon as, for the majority of our relationship, is a drunk. Truth be told he has only managed to stay sober when we were not together. It's not that far-fetched to start feeling responsible for his sobriety when all you seem to do is pushing him back into that cycle.  
After all he did throw away thirteen years of sobriety because of me.

Sometimes all I can remember of the years we spent together is the smell of vomit drenched sheets, the sound of empty bottles scattering in a hundred pieces on the floor, the grayness of ER waiting rooms' walls, the burn of his sweaty feverish forehead against the back of my hand. I thought I could live without him at first, that didn't last for long. He was back in my band before Maddie learned how to walk. I made peace with the fact that he was just part of me, literally part of me for all of nine months, nine days and thirteen long hours. At the end of the day we were friends, we always have been, I thought being Deacon's friend would be enough, that just having him close to me would be enough.  
My Goodness, was I wrong.

My body ached at times so strong was the urge to just reach out and touch him, too strong the desire to just be with him again. I couldn't tell which nights were worse: the ones spent wide awake praying to God to give me the strength to stay away from his bunk ten feet away from me on the bus; or the nights spent dreaming of wearing his ring, wrapped in his arms, in the safety of our cabin. It was like slow dancing in a burning room most of the time, I wanted to escape, to run away from it.  
But the music still played on.

Deacon and I have been everything to each other, except man and wife. He's made me a woman, he's made me an artist and he's made me a mother. Deacon was all my firsts, my first boyfriend, my first love, my first number one single, my first platinum album, my first arena tour, he was there for it all.  
He was part of it all.

I look up at Tandy and nod slightly.

 _I am still in love with Deacon,_ is my unspoken confession.

The admission is overwhelming. Deep down I've always known this was the truth, but admitting it to someone else makes it somehow a reality. Tears spring to my eyes and I let them fall. My body is shaken by a sob as my sister engulfs me in her long lean arms, resting her head on top of mine just like our mama used to do, murmuring that it's going to be okay, that, "everything is going to be alright."

I am not sure I quite believe that. It's not okay. None of this is okay. I had no right to hurt Luke like that, I didn't want to let the girls down and cause all this pain. I waited till the very last second to call this crazy wedding off in the hope things would change and feelings disappear. I've been waiting for that to happen for twenty-six years now. Truth is, I don't know how much more hurt Deacon and I can inflict on each other, for some reason we're always willing to push the limit. This love...God it can be heaven or it can be hell and I'm not sure I'm ready to roll the dice again quite yet.

I take a big breath and wipe away the tears from my face. I tell Tandy, "I need some time to think."  
Time to process all that has happened in the last twelve hours, a little time to find myself again. I was thrown off balance there and I just have to find it back before I can take the next step. Tandy looks on as I get up and gingerly walk to the kitchen aisle. I can feel her solemn stare on me as I slip on a jacket and grab my keys. Without much of a word or a glance, I walk out the door. We both know that my car will eventually stop in front of Deacon's house, because as much as I need time to myself, I also need him to know that I am no longer protecting myself from choosing him.  
I choose you, Deacon.  
The music still plays on.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: Hi, everyone! Sorry this took way longer than I was anticipating, but better late than never, right? I'd like to thank each and everyone of you for taking the time to read/favorite/follow/review this story, means so much to me.**

 **This is my take on the "behind the scenes" of episode 12, "I've got reasons to hate you".**

 **Many many many thanks to the best beta in the world, my SparklingEnchantress, who always makes time for me no matter what. I frigging adore you!**

 **Okay, that's all folks! Enjoy!**

* * *

 _\- Sorry sweetheart,_

 _too busy today for our lesson. We'll do it another time._

 _Love you._

I look down at the phone in my hand and read the text over and over again, I feel awful. That sweet girl doesn't deserve to be lied to, I just don't know what else to do. Eventually I will have to share the news with Maddie, I know that, but I want to wait until I have some good news to go along with it, something to soften the blow. I want to tell her that yes, I have liver cancer, but they've found a liver for me and everything is going to be okay. I can't look her in the eyes and pretend that everything's fine, so I hit send.  
I'm sorry baby.

It's been weeks since I've seen or heard from Rayna. She's asked for some space and I'm respecting that, or at least trying to. I can't deny I've thought about calling her a time or two. But then I tell myself that it's easier like this anyway, one less person to lie to. As much as I dread telling the whole truth to Maddie, it doesn't even come close to how gut wrenching the thought of revealing it to Rayna is. Turns out she was right all along, my drinking is indeed going to kill me. That 'one day' Rayna always used to refer to might be fairly closer than I could have ever imagined. I can't look her in the eyes and tell her that my addiction has come back to bite me in the ass.  
How do I tell her she can't save me this time?

* * *

Mental hospital, rehab, Mexico with Deacon, according to the rumors flying around I've been all over the place lately. I laugh it off as I apply one last coat of mascara on my eyelashes. In all honesty, I wouldn't mind being in some resort in Cabo San Lucas right now, it's been an extraordinary cold winter here in Nashville and my mouth waters just at the thought of sipping mojitos en la playa at sunset. Much to people's surprise I'm not having a nervous breakdown, I'm not drowning my sorrows in alcohol and I'm definitely not eating guacamole off Deacon's chest either.  
If only.

I'm used to crazy rumors and absurd fabrications, but this? This is a whole other beast. Luke is out there hopping from bar to bar with a different woman every night, putting together impromptu shows around town, hell bent on showing the world he is over me and under someone else and having the time of his life while he's at it too. I, on the other hand, have cancelled the remaining dates of my winter tour, left the house only for carpool duties and indispensable trips to the grocery store and have been deliberately off the radar for weeks now. It's not that I've got anything to hide, let alone anything to be ashamed of, it's just that I really needed to find the balance I've lost and figure out what the future looks like for me. So now I'm getting ready for my first so called 'public appearance', my first outing since I've become a runaway bride. I'm sure the Enquirer's readers got a kick out of that picture of my face poorly photoshopped onto Julia Roberts's as she's running away from the church in the movie on a horse.

All in all, I'm excited to perform at the Bluebird again, it's been so long. Pam Tillis will share the stage with me, Bucky and Sadie will be in the audience, I'll sing an acoustic version of some of my old hits and it'll be just like the old times.  
Except Deacon won't be there.

The last time I performed at the Bluebird it was for Deacon's 43th birthday. I can't help but think back to that night. It wasn't exactly the happiest time in my life, Teddy and I were divorcing, the girls were having issues grappling with the news, paparazzi were following me around everywhere I went and I was just plainly exhausted. Attending a surprise birthday party Juliette Barnes, of all people, had put together for him, wasn't really at the top of my to-do list that day, but then Watty dropped by to listen to a new song I'd just written and convinced me to go with him and sing it at Deacon's party. So I did.  
Truth be told I didn't need much convincing at all, I'd been looking for an excuse to see Deacon all day, I wanted to talk to him, tell him about what happened in Chicago, but I didn't want to do that over the phone and with the press hot on my heels I couldn't have very well met him for a coffee downtown or had him over for a casual lunch. Before I could change my mind, I got up on stage that night and dedicated a song I thought I'd written about my ex-husband and our divorce, to Deacon. Unexpectedly every word and every note that came out of my mouth spoke of us. It was somewhat uncanny. I still remember what I told him later that night. It's been almost two years and it still rings as true in my ears as it did back then.  
I wanna do right by you.

* * *

"Do you remember that fourth of July weekend we spent down in Pensacola with Aunt Rosaline and Uncle Frank?" Bev asks throwing her head back laughing.

I nod my head yes and then start laughing too. How could I forget that? I couldn't have been older than six or seven, our Ma had taken us down to visit her sister and her family and to get some beach time in. We were so excited to spend a few days in the sun with our cousin, by the ocean. It is still to this day one of the happiest memories from our childhood.  
God knows we don't have many of those _._

"We buried poor Frank in the sand and left him there for how long? He got sunstroke and was so sick he missed the fireworks."

"Stupid kid had it coming," We exchange a mischievous smirk and for a moment it's like the Claybourne twins are back.

Beverly and I are only eighteen months apart and people would often think we were twins when we were kids. People in Natchez called us the 'Claybourne twins' and it kind of stuck with us. We were thick as thieves once, I would always follow Bev around like a shadow, even in our teenage years, we'd always been close. We were partners in crime, we'd protect each other from anyone and anything, usually my father's belt. She would do anything to keep me safe and of course that meant leaving poor Frank Junior under the scorching July sun to fry like chicken in a hot cast iron skillet. Frankie was only a couple months older than me, but he had a few pounds on me and he'd always take advantage of that. He was a bit of a bully and would boss me around to do something that would most likely get me into trouble with my mother or aunt. Beverly couldn't stand how the kid treated her little brother and one day suggested we'd all take turns burying each other in the sand and see who would last the longest. It goes without saying Frank Junior went in first, Beverly dug a big hole for him and once he settled in it, we covered him in sand up until his chin. When Aunt Rosaline found him, hours later, his face was red like a pepper and the poor kid couldn't even remember his name.

I study her pensive expression for a bit, watching as she traces the rim of her cup with her fingertip in a circular motion. I don't think she realizes how much she looks like mama these days. She was only a couple years older than Beverly is now when she passed away. It is disturbing and at the same time comforting to know I'll get to see what she would have looked like, through my sister, if she got to grow old.

"We had a great time, I remember we'd always have a great time there," Bev finally says as a small smile appears on her face, "It was always sunny, not a single cloud in the sky. I loved the sound of the waves."

"Maybe we should go back sometime," I say taking her hand in mine.

Her eyes grow big, "You'd go with me?"

"Sure, maybe we can take Maddie and Scarlett with us too."

"I'd love that," she smiles mama's smile.

And I smile back.

* * *

Maddie asks what I want to write about, if I have any ideas at all. I shrug and tell her I don't want to write about love or heartache or anything of the sorts. Maddie nods understandingly, the underlying text is clear.  
I don't want to write about Deacon.

After mulling it over for a couple of minutes, I announce, "I want to write about life, real life."

Maddie sits up straighter and scrunches up her face asking what I mean exactly. I carefully search for the right words, my daughter is wise beyond her years and I've learned that's a double-edged sword. Truth is, I don't know what to tell her. How do I explain to her that in the past few months I haven't felt like myself, that I've lived a life that didn't really feel like a life? The tears, the laughter, everything felt scripted and rehearsed a thousand times over. How can I tell my daughter that I felt out of touch with her and her sister for a while there? That all of a sudden I felt like I didn't know how to do the one single thing that has always come natural to me?  
Being her mama _._

Before either of us realize it, we have a chorus and half a bridge written down. I am in awe of her. Her guitar skills have gotten so much better since she has started taking lessons from Deacon, sometimes my eyes can't even follow her fingers as they swiftly press and sling along the strings. She's inherited her father's talent, that's for sure.

At times like this I catch myself wondering how in the world Deacon, and everyone else, didn't notice the resemblance with Maddie. It was right there under his nose for all those years, it is clear as day to me how much the two of them look and act alike. The way her eyes twinkle when she has a guitar in her hands, the dimples that grow deeper in her cheeks whenever she smiles, the way she scratches her head with her index finger whenever a situation makes her feel uneasy or uncomfortable.

Since the very first time I laid eyes on her, I saw Deacon in her features. Sure, for some weird genetic joke, both my daughters have inherited my father's hazel eye color, but regardless I saw Deacon staring back at me the second my eyes met Maddie's.  
When the lab results came in, I didn't even bother to look at them. I remember how Teddy fumbled with the envelope and ended up tearing it to pieces to get to the letter inside of it, impatient to find out the truth. I quietly listened to him as he read the results out loud, his voice getting lower and lower with each number he read followed by the word "exclusion". I didn't need a DNA test to tell me what I knew all along, there was no science that could beat a mother's instinct.  
Maddie was Deacon's.

I had known for a long time. I knew it the moment I realized I'd missed my period. I knew it when two pink lines formed on the white plastic stick that I was holding on to for dear life, scared that a bump would make me drop it in the toilet of that claustrophobically small tour bus bathroom. Teddy couldn't know, so he hoped. And I let him. I never revealed to him that I used to wake up in the middle of the night with the most random craving for SpaghettiOs or that Maddie would kick a bunch whenever one of our songs came on the radio.  
I couldn't find it in myself to tell him that the child I was carrying, much like me, belonged to Deacon.

"How about 'Sky worth flying has no limits if we don't forget'?"

"I like it," Maddie nods, going over the bridge again, "Makes no difference how we began it, life has one last breath."

"Sky worth flying has no limits if we don't forget," I join in.

Maddie's face breaks into a smile as we launch into the chorus again. When the final note echoes in the room we burst into giggles and I pull her in for a long hug. That's when it hits me.  
I just wrote my first song with my daughter.

* * *

When I got back home earlier tonight I found Scarlett on the couch, sobbing her heart out in the dark. Seeing Scarlett like that, so broken, hit my undoing. Teardrops fell down my own face as we sit there crying together. Beverly has decided she won't be my donor, she didn't even want to go through the second round of tests. I don't blame her for not wanting to put her life in danger for me, like she said I brought this on himself. I don't necessarily understand how or why my own sister would rather see me die than help me, but I don't hold it against her. This is my battle, not hers, not Scarlett's, not anyone else's. As I lie down in bed now I can still hear my niece bawling all the way from my room. Scarlett feels responsible for me, which makes me feel even worse. I told her over and over again how grateful I am to her and for her and that none of this is her fault. Still she seems inconsolable tonight. If I had any second thoughts about telling Maddie before, they're gone now.  
This is exactly why she can't find out about this.

Rayna's words echo in my ears as I twist and turn in this suddenly uncomfortable bed, sleep failing me as usual lately, " _I just need to know that she can count on you. 'Cause I'm not gonna open that door if I think there's a chance you might close it on her."_

Over the years, I've made her many promises and I've failed to make good on each and every one of them. First I'd promised I didn't have an alcohol problem, that it was just a trying time and I was under a lot of pressure, it wasn't true of course.  
Then I'd promised her I would stay clean after my first stint in rehab, I even bought her a house - her dream house - to prove to her that I was taking it all very seriously. Two years later there I was, on my knees, begging her not to leave me and promising her I wouldn't bail on rehab again and would finish that third stint. I didn't even make it through the first two weeks.  
It took Rayna a bit to forgive me for going back on that particular promise. The weeks we spent apart were pure hell to me, but that's the place where songs like No One Will Ever Love You and Surrender came from, so I guess something good did come out of it, all things considered. We won our first Grammy the following year for Best Country Collaboration With Vocals for No One Will Ever Love You. I remember watching Rayna as she hugged Bucky tight and then walked on stage on shaky legs to collect her award, I could see the tears threatening to ruin her makeup through that tiny television screen. I wasn't with her in LA, I was at the Cumberland Heights rehabilitation center, six steps away from finishing my twelve steps program, three weeks deep into sweaty t-shirts and smelly sheets. In his last visit Vince somehow had managed to smuggle in one of those small TV's with unbelievably long antennas, just so that I could watch the award show the following Sunday. That was the last time I saw Vinnie alive, he drunkenly drove his car into a tree ten days later. I never made it to the twelfth step.

Some promises I remember, some I don't. I don't remember promising her that I would marry her, but I kind of put two and two together when one morning I woke up to a yelling Rayna and she threw a ring at me. I selfishly find solace in the knowledge that I didn't make any more promises to her for a long time after that.

That was until last year, when she walked into this house and told me she wasn't going to let me into Maddie's life only to see her get hurt. I promised to myself and to her that I would never hurt her, that I would never close that door on our daughter and that I would work on myself to be someone Maddie would be proud to call her father. Now I don't know if I'm gonna be able to make good on that promise, I don't know if this cancer will allow me to.  
Sparing Maddie the pain I couldn't spare Rayna, is the one promise I know I _can't_ not keep.

* * *

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N. : Sorry it took so long to update this, it wasn't intentional, but hey, life happens. This is the last chapter without any Deyna interactions (YaY!) and it covers episode 13 and episode 14. From the next chapter on, all bets are off. Can't wait to get to that, it's what I was looking forward the most when I first started this.**

 **I'd like to thank RaynasBlueSkies for (albeit unknowingly) helping me develop an idea I had for this particular chapter. It's always a pleasure to trick her into doing stuff for me like that. Hey, the end justifies the means. Lol**

 **Enjoy everyone!**

* * *

If six months ago someone would have told me I'd be sitting at my computer today, downloading a free will and testament form from some "law depot" crap website, I would have laughed at them. Still, here I am filling out a bunch of papers I've just printed so that I can get my affairs in order before….well…just while I still can.

I've decided Scarlett is going to get this house and everything that comes with it, most of it is crappy beaten up furniture, but she loves that piano and she can decide for herself whether to throw the other stuff away or keep it. Maddie is going to get the cabin. I've thought about this a great deal, I've debated with myself whether to leave the cabin to Rayna or not, but let's face it Ray's got enough money to buy that cabin and four more. I know Maddie will be taken care of, financially I mean, by both Teddy and Rayna if she ever needed money, but I want her to have this house as an asset anyway. I bought it for her mama so that we could spend the rest of our lives there together. We never did, we probably never will, but maybe Maddie and her family might one day, maybe then that place will finally serve its purpose. I'm leaving all my guitars to Maddie too.  
Well, all but one.

I'm leaving Dot to Rayna. Dot is my custom made bandit round neck weber resonator guitar. It is a special guitar. Ray bought it as a gift for me for my 21st birthday. We shared a one bedroom apartment with my buddy Vince back then, we had close to no furniture and used to sleep on a twin mattress on the hard floor. Every penny we made with a gig would usually be spent for gas, recording studio fees and renting gear for whatever gig we were lucky enough to book next. It was a cycle we didn't know how to break: we were literally spending money to make money. It didn't take long before we went broke. Watty tried to help us out best he could, but every label he'd set up a meeting with for Rayna would laugh in her face because, apparently, she wasn't country enough. Her first record deal fell through when all that was discussed at their first meeting was her ability to walk in high heels and her measurements. She came out of that room smelling like cigars, with tears streaming down her face and holding a torn up contract in her hand. It took her almost two years to land another record deal. And when she finally did sign with Edgehill Republic, she cashed that very first check and spent every single penny on that guitar.

I remember we'd gotten a notice of default from the Nashville Electric Service that month, but I'll be damned if on the morning of my birthday I didn't wake up to a resonator guitar with a big red bow wrapped around its neck and a "Deacon" guitar strap loosely hanging off its side, next to me. It was one of the happiest days of my life.  
I'd wanted that guitar for so long, but we honestly couldn't afford food that didn't come out of a can at the time, let alone a fine guitar like that. Ray even got me a set of personalized guitar picks, some had my initials on them, some had hers, one had the word "eternity" on it.  
I still keep that one in my wallet to this day.

Rayna was hellbent on finding that guitar a name, "Eric Clapton's got 'Blackie', Willie Nelson's got 'Trigger', what will Deacon Claybourne's infamous guitar be called?" she asked.

I laughed at her and said it was silly to name guitars. She looked at me with utter shock and said that that guitar was now my baby and every baby needs a name. We bickered back and forth over names for an hour before giving up and putting our energies to better use. The first song I played with my Dot was the "Old Yeller" opening credits song. We laid in bed that night, spent and sore from a day of celebrating, eating birthday cake leftovers and watching my favorite movie. At one point during the movie, I remember Rayna pointed at the tv screen and said Dorothy McGuire used to be her mama's favorite actress.

I looked at her with a smile on my face and said, "I really really liked the name Dorothy." Rayna scoffed and said it was, "Too girly for a guitar." By the end of the movie I'd bargained the name Dot in exchange for the last piece of cake.

The next morning I woke up tangled in a mess of sheets smeared with chocolate frosting. I looked to my left and saw Dot on the floor, in the same spot where I'd left her the night before. Then I looked to my right, I could no longer feel my arm, Rayna had used it as her pillow for the night and she was clinging to it so tight, even in her sleep, that it didn't matter to me that I'd probably have to have it amputated in a couple of hours. She was sleeping so peacefully, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her auburn hair spread all over the place like wildfire, tickling my bare chest. Dot was a great gift, but waking up to that beautiful woman lying next to me every day, that was the greatest gift of all.

A week later I found myself confronting Rayna about spending all that money for me when, looking for some cash in her purse to pay the pizza guy, I'd accidentally found her bank account statement. She just shrugged in that adorable manner of hers and said we needed a great acoustic guitar to pay the bills, it was sort of an investment for her career more than a gift for me. As per usual she was right. That guitar helped us pay for the electric bill that month, and then for a down payment on a bigger apartment the next, and a new pick-up six months later, and well, of course, eventually it helped me pay for my cabin too. That's where I keep it these days, at the cabin. That guitar is the one single thing that survived my alcoholic days without a single scratch. Well, that and my love for Rayna too, I guess.

I write Rayna's name on the dotted line, below the beneficiary's name in the "specific gifts" section, and then proceed to describe Dot in detail in the gift description box. I don't know if I'll be around for my next birthday, but just in case I won't, I don't want Rayna to be alone eating leftovers all by herself in bed, watching "Old Yeller".  
Maybe she and Dot can share some cake.

* * *

My hands are shaking. That's never a good sign. It means I've passed the limit of tolerance, of patience, for every-fucking-thing. I'm beside myself right now, biting my tongue so hard I'm expecting to taste blood in my mouth at any moment. I move around in my chair as I listen to the other two occupants of the room discussing our next move, "This could be done as soon as tomorrow." A wave of nausea hits me when Bucky gives Valerie Deacon's contact information.  
This is really happening.

My lawyer said there is not a lot we can do to dispute a binding contract signed by my daughter's father, that's when Bucky jumped at the chance to point out that, "Technically, he's not the father. Not the biological father anyway."

That's when my heart skipped a beat and the nausea kicked in. I could not believe he went there. Valerie asked what he meant and Bucky quickly filled her in on the past fifteen years or so of my life. According to the law, it would take a handful of days to strip Teddy of his parental rights if we file an emergency injunction. All I have to do is dig up that DNA test we did back when Maddie was born, ask Deacon to show up at the hearing and sign a few papers and then have the birth certificate corrected.  
It sounds awfully easy.

I can't do this to Teddy. I don't want to do this to Teddy. He's Maddie's father, he's the one who raised her. As much as it pains me to have denied all those happy memories to Deacon, Teddy was the one who'd dress up as Santa every Christmas Eve, he was the one who'd look under her bed at night to check if there were any monsters there, and he was the one who spent an entire summer teaching her how to ride a bike. He is Maddie's father. I couldn't care less what biology says, no one could take that away from him, there's no judge that could ever overrule those fifteen years of life together.

I finally find the courage to say that, "I'm sorry, but this is not happening."

Bucky gives me his notorious you-gotta-be-kidding-me side look and for a moment there I contemplate how much it would cost us to get the moquette in the office cleaned if I threw my lid-less disposable coffee cup across the table at him.

"There's not really a choice here Rayna. It's either this or Maddie working for Edgehill."

"I can't do this to Teddy, okay? I just can't," I say dangerously tightening my grip around the cup in front of me.

There has got to be another way out. I cannot believe Teddy would put me in this position. It's just insane. What the hell is wrong with him? Why on Earth would he ever sign Maddie to Edgehill without her consent or mine? I just cannot believe he would do something like this just to look like the cool parent in our daughter's eyes. It makes no sense at all, this is not something the Teddy I know would do.  
Then again I haven't seen that Teddy in a long time.

"So, shall we proceed?" Valerie's voice is resolute but unlike Bucky's, there's a dab of sympathy in it too. She's a two time divorcee and also a lawyer, I assume this is nothing short of ordinary for her.

I sigh and nod my head yes. Bucky is right, I don't have a choice. I can't let Maddie work for Jeff Fordham, the thought alone makes me sick. I thank Valerie for her time and then excuse myself. I may not be doing the decent thing here, but I want to do it decently. I grab a few items from my office and then hastily make my way out of the building. I'm going to talk to Teddy first and inform him of the injunction and then I'm gonna have to call Deacon and fill him in too.  
Gosh Deacon, I feel terrible for him now. He's never asked to be legally recognized as Maddie's father. He never wanted to take Teddy's place, he's just happy to be part of Maddie's life. Besides, he doesn't need a judge to acknowledge him as her daddy, their bond means so much more than a piece of paper ever could. I don't want to drag him through the mud too, I don't want to use him to get back at Teddy, but what can I do? I hope to God he will understand the situation and help me make Maddie understand I'm doing this to protect her.  
I climb in the car and fasten my seat belt as an unwelcome realization sinks in, our family is about to explode.

* * *

Yesterday I thought my only option was waiting on a transplant list, unabashedly hoping that someone somewhere would bite the dust; or that someone somewhere would be crazy enough to donate two thirds of his liver to a complete stranger, just for the heck of it.  
I drink bee pollen for breakfast in lieu of my regular black coffee now and I take walks around the neighborhood because - at my doctor's recommendation - my sick with cancer body oughta stay in good shape. What an oxymoron.  
Yesterday the future looked bright.

Now, today, I've found out there might be another option for me, a spot has opened on a clinical trial of a new "potential" treatment that researchers are "hopeful" will help treat my cancer without having to do participate in the aforementioned trial though, I'll have to forego transplant surgery on the off-chance a liver donor should become available. It all sounds very promising, doesn't it?  
Today the future looks even fucking brighter.

I honestly don't know what to do. I can't just take a chance on this, I can't take a gamble, my own damn life is at stake here. If either of these options fail, I die. On one hand I can try this new treatment and pray it works, on the other hand I can sit at home and wait by the phone for a call that may never come.  
It's doing my head in.

What I personally find incredibly humorous is that that doctor makes it sound like I've got a choice here, like there's an actual choice to make. There is not. For Christ's sake, I didn't choose to get sick, and I sure as hell don't get to choose if I want to live or die. Whatever I decide I am putting my life in someone else's hands, a clinical trial or a transplant program, whatever. I don't have any control over my life and it's positively driving me insane. I don't know what the outcome is going to be and neither do they, there's no guarantee here, there's no certainty.  
I don't even know what to hope for.

Scarlett hasn't said a word about this, she hasn't voiced her opinion as usual, nor has she tried to stir me in one direction rather than the other, hell she hasn't even tried to shove green juices down my throat once today. This is the kind of decision you need to make for yourself, I suppose. Nevertheless you want to get some input on it, some friendly words of advice. In different circumstances, I would have run to Rayna. She's always been that person for me, the one you turn to whenever you feel like you've lost your bearings. She's always been my compass, the northern star I'd look for in my darkest nights. Even after our accident, hers was the first number I dialed when I was told I may have never been able to play a note on the guitar again. She's always been the one I run to, even when she is the one I am running from.

It is taking all of me to refrain from the urge to lift that phone up from its cradle and dial her number, to just call her and lay it out. But I can't. I'm gonna have to find a way to figure this out on my own, without her.  
Just like she's probably gonna have to find a way to figure out life without me, no matter what treatment I'll choose for myself.

* * *

Sadie has apologized a dozen times to me in the ten minutes that have passed since the meeting with my lawyer has ended. She's mortified, I can tell. I take her hand in mine and reassure her there's no need to apologize, that this is not her fault, that she's the victim here. Regardless she tells me she feels humiliated and incredibly sorry for dragging me and Highway 65 through this because, "I chose the wrong guy."

My lips curve up in a small smile and I squeeze her hand tightly. I know exactly how she feels. I was Sadie once. I walked in her shoes for years actually. I was the one sitting in a big room looking down at my lap and apologizing to my label's CEO, I was the one who had to apologize and write checks to bars' managers in the hope that the zeros on that piece of paper would not only be enough to buy them new furniture, but to buy their silence as well; I was the one who had to profusely apologize to producers or members of my band because my lead guitarist was late, or sick or worse. I remember those days, clear as day, when I had to apologize to just about anyone who would cross paths with Deacon.  
I myself was once the girl who'd chosen the wrong guy.

It's just that Deacon wasn't the wrong guy, not really, not ever. It all felt very right to me, us together, our relationship, we were right for each other. The drinking wasn't right, the DUI's weren't right, the pill popping wasn't right, but Deacon? No, Deacon was right. He was also my responsibility, how could I have left him? I was in love with him and when you care so deeply for somebody, their wellbeing, their happiness, it all becomes sort of your responsibility too.  
And man, was I in love with that Mississippi boy.

I was too young then, I'd always led quite a privileged life and knew very little about the world that existed outside those Belle Meade gates. It was a bit too much at times to take care of an alcoholic all the while trying to make a name for myself in a male dominant business in which you always have to prove your worth to someone, a radio station owner, an advertiser, a hardcore country fan. It was especially hard because every damn choice about my career couldn't be made without taking into consideration if Deacon would sober up in time for the next gig, or if he felt well enough to spend half a day on a bus or if playing a summer festival to an audience of drunk kids would represent a threat to his newly reacquired sobriety.  
There was nothing right about that and thinking back on it, it's an actual wonder I managed to build this career for myself despite all the pushed back releases and last minute cancellations.

Then again I would have never had such a successful career without him. There would be no shiny Grammys collecting dust on a mantel in my music room or CMA awards on display at the Highway 65 headquarters. There wouldn't be certified platinum albums hanging on the walls and six figure sales to worry about. There would be nothing. There probably wouldn't even be a Rayna Jaymes, a Rayna Wyatt maybe, but certainly not a Rayna Jaymes.

Sadie asks if I was ever worried that Deacon would pull a Pete on me and threaten to take it all away from me. I shake my head vehemently, "Oh my God, no. Never."

It's the truth. The thought never actually crossed my mind. First of all, I've always given credit where credit was due, Deacon has always been credited as a co-writer, guitarist, or whatever on my albums. His name was the first you'd read on the payroll. Second of all, he would never hurt me like that. If there is one thing I could swear my life on, is that Deacon Claybourne would never hurt me on purpose. He wouldn't seek revenge like that, he's such a kind hearted loving man, he would never do something like that and I'm not talking just about me, he wouldn't do that to anyone. Pete was a shitty human being well before he became a shitty husband and an even shittier ex-husband.

"Deacon is not Pete," I say without even trying to conceal the pride that is seeping through my pores as I speak the words.

Sadie offers a rueful smile, "You're a lucky woman Rayna, I don't think you realize how lucky you are."

She's right. Maybe I don't. It's just that sometimes it's easier to forget there were good times in between all those bad ones, that the lows were low, but God, the highs were really really high. Our past is tainted by a series of lies and broken promises, but I wouldn't change it for the world. It's what brought us here after all.

Now, I'm not sure what or where this "here" is and I'm not sure I'm ready to find out just yet, but we are here whatever shape or form this here may have.  
We're still _here_.

* * *

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi, guys! So sorry it took this long to update this, but I was on vacation (I've got a good excuse this time, ha!).  
So, this is the very first chapter with some Deyna interaction, finally! I must admit I consciously avoided writing about my beloved "The River Between Us" moment, I honestly believe that performance was so perfect and I certainly do not want to mess with perfection. Words could never do that moment justice in my opinion.  
** **I can't possibly wait to get to episode 16 and 17 next, I'll try and update this as soon as I can, but I can't make any promises. Sorry again for the loooong wait.**

 **My beta went above and beyond for me this time, she literally pulled an all-nighter for me and I can't possibly thank her enough, she's amazing. Thank you thank you thank you SparklingEnchantress.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The dishwasher is loaded and going, the laundry folded and put away, I've hand washed the glasses and cleaned up the kitchen, even mopped the floor. There's nothing else I can do down here, so I head upstairs looking for some other chore that will make me postpone this inevitable phone call a little longer. The girls are tucked in and ready to go to sleep, I doubt they'll sleep much tonight. They are so excited to have their opry debut tomorrow, if I know them, well, they'll probably spend half the night texting back and forth with their friends talking about outfits and matching accessories, hairstyles and matching makeup looks.

Walking past Maddie's room I see a soft light seeping through the half closed door and I can hear her tuning her guitar with that new app she's downloaded on her phone. I make a mental note to buy her some new strings tomorrow, she'll probably snap a couple of them if she keeps tuning that poor old guitar every ten minutes. I head to my bedroom and sit on the bed. I can't express with words how happy it makes me to look in front of me and see those sweet faces back on this wall. I can't help but think Deacon would have never asked me to take those paintings down, he would have probably made me have a pair in each and every room. He's such a sucker for those two girls, they've both got him wrapped around their little fingers, especially the older one. A smile creeps up on my face as images of Deacon and Maddie together start dancing before my eyes. How could she ever think I hate that man? That I can't stand to be on stage with him? It is the absolute opposite and It's unbelievable that - of all people - our daughter is the only one who can't see how hard it is for us to be apart now that there is nothing standing in our way.

I look around the room in search of something to fluff, clean, dust, rearrange, but nothing seems out of place or in need of anything really. I sigh and slid my phone out of my pocket. This is it, I can't put it off any longer. I unlock the screen and scroll down my contact list until his name flashes on the screen.

I hesitate for a second.

Am I ready for this? Is this really what I want?

There is no doubt in my mind that I want Deacon to be there tomorrow. He's been with me from the very beginning, there is no one else I'd rather celebrate this milestone with, except for the girls. I tell myself nothing has to come out of this. It doesn't mean I'm ready to take that step, it doesn't mean I'm closing that gap that's been between us for far too long. It means nothing unless I want it to. But…do I want it to?

I hit "call" and fill my lungs with more air than is probably necessary.

He answers after the very first ring.

"Hey, It's me."

* * *

I told Rayna I would get back to her, that I would let her know if I'd make it to the Opry tonight.

I haven't, not yet at least. I packed my guitars and lined them up next to the front door about an hour ago and I've been staring at them since then.

Truth is I want to go. I want to be there for my daughter's Opry debut, I want to be on stage with her and Daphne and have one of those proud daddy moments I've missed over the years. I really really do.

And I want to be there for Rayna too.

It's a special night, a very special night. She's dreamed of getting inducted into the Opry since the very first night we played there back in 1990. We got a tour of the Opry House the afternoon before our performance, Rayna had been there quite a few times with her mama when she was a little girl. We walked through those hallways and rooms in complete awe, stopping to look at a picture on the wall or a name on a door. We were like two kids holding their golden tickets tight in their hands as they toured the chocolate factory. We couldn't believe our luck when Bucky called and said a spot had opened that night for the 7pm show and they needed someone to fill in. I remember Rayna stopping in front of that wall with all those shiny plaques that read the names of the lucky ones who'd had the privilege of becoming members of the opry family; she turned around and looked me in the eyes, "One day you'll read my name on this wall."

I did. It took another fifteen years, but I did. I was there the night Connie Smith came out on stage and surprised her with her Opry membership invitation. She hugged her close and looked at me from above her shoulder, I gave her a nod and clapped my hands along with the rest of the people in the room. I'll never forget that I-made-it look on her face, she was so proud of herself, but not nearly as proud as I was of her.

Two months later we were back at the Opry, this time her entire family had come out to celebrate this incredible career milestone. Teddy was there, the girls were there, her sister Tandy, even big old Lamar had come to show his love and support for his daughter. I stood back, hung out with the Opry house band guys and Rayna's band, and watched from afar as Rayna juggled to get ready with two little kids on her hands, one of which was busying herself with a little more than just her mommy's hands. I stood behind her on stage when she collected her Opry Member Award from Little Jimmy Dickens' hands, but watched from afar when she drilled her plaque into that infamous wall, when she hugged her daughter and husband backstage and left hand in hand with him. I watched it all from a safe distance. I didn't get to tell her how proud of her I was that night or that I'd never been happier in my entire life, I didn't get to kiss her or hug her or even just high five her. All I got to do was go back home, pick my guitar up and play and write until my fingers bled and my eyes dried.

She had her Opry membership award and her beautiful family, all I had then was a five-year-sober chip and a new song, Sideshow.

That's part of the reason why I'm sitting here instead of Rayna's dressing room right now. I get to congratulate her tonight. Tonight I can walk up to her and take her in my arms and whisper in her ear that I am proud of her and I've never been happier in my entire life. I get to put one arm around her and one arm around our daughter backstage and walk away hand in hand with her. I am free - in theory - to do it, I could do all those things and I want to, but I can't. I can't because I probably have less than six months to live and I can't possibly open that door without spilling this secret. I don't think I'm ready to tell her the truth, I don't know if I'll ever be. How do you tell the love of your life that you're about to die? How can I look her in the eyes and pretend we can finally get that happy ending we've been pining for for all these years? How can I lie to her? I used to be good at that once, but I'm about two bottles of Jack short tonight. I don't know if I can look at her on that stage and not completely lose it at the thought this will probably be the last time I'll see her perform there. She'll know something is wrong, she'll figure it out before the curtain call.

Maybe this will be the last time I see Rayna play the Opry, maybe I won't live to see my daughter's name on that wall. And that sucks. But when I'm on my death bed these are the moments I want to remember, maybe these will be the last memories we'll make together and I'll make damn sure they are the best.

"Fuck this."

I grab my keys and get up, the show must go on.

* * *

I watch as my girls squeal and throw their arms around him tight. I can't help the smile that settles on my face. He's here.  
He smiles back at me and says, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I can feel my cheeks squeezing my eyes to a tiny fissure, as my lips curve into a happy smile. I feel tingly all over, God he looks good. I must be looking like a damn fool at this point, but I don't care. My heart is beating so fast, I can hear it in my ears.

Disentangling himself from my daughter's firm grasps, Deacon sets his guitar down and takes his coat off. A couple more guitars are carried in by a young boy and I watch as he extends his hand to him to shake his in sign of thanks. This is one of the many things I love about this man, he's never gotten too big for his britches. He's one of the most acclaimed guitar players in the business and still he rubs shoulders with roadies and cracks a joke with craft service guys.

Daphne starts talking about the song they're going to perform tonight, their school music project and the built in recording studio their school now has. Maddie checks her makeup in the mirror one more time and then asks if she can borrow my lip gloss. I distractedly say yes, my eyes still fixed on Deacon. I watch him as he carefully listens to Daphne blabbering about everything and nothing at all, he smiles and nods and laughs at her antics.

"Mom shouldn't you start getting ready too?" Comes Maddie's voice from behind me.

"Yes. Yes, I should," I say quickly, but then again, as I turn back to take one more look at him, I've never felt more ready in my life.

* * *

I feel a cold hand slip in my palm and lean fingers squeezing my hand tightly. I know who this hand belongs to the second it comes in contact with mine, her hands always dead cold before a show.

I look down at our now interlocked hands and then turn my head around to look at her. Her hand starts getting warmer as I squeeze it back and lift it up with mine. All of a sudden I can't hear Vince speaking on stage, I can't hear the audience cheering and clapping, I can't see the people around us, all I can do is feel. It's a shock to the system and at the same time the sweetest welcome home a man could ask for.

I feel her eyes on me, they tell a story we wrote together many moons ago, I feel my body begging to get closer to her, I feel the warmth of her half smile on my lips and I realize I would literally do anything for this girl.

"Come sing with me," she says.

It's a plea and a challenge. I stand there almost paralyzed by her request. Do I join her? Do I stand back? My now empty hand is itching to grab a guitar, I can feel adrenaline pumping through me with every passing second.

"He's been with me from the very beginning…in one way or another," her small laugh hits my undoing.

I signal for my guitar and step into the spotlight.

Tonight, and maybe for tonight only, I don't have to be in her sideshow.

* * *

It takes another twenty minutes before I am finally free to walk off stage. There's only one thing on my mind as I move through the crowd backstage, greeting people and answering questions dismissively. I desperately search for that familiar pair of blue eyes above people's heads, as I nod and smile profusely at new and old friends on my way to my dressing room. My heart beats a little bit faster with every step I take. I walk into the room but find it empty. His guitars are gone, his jacket is gone, for all intents and purposes it looks like he left.

I turn to Maddie and ask her if she saw where he went, but she seems as confused as I am right now. I take another look around and see no trace of him. I feel like a little panicked kid who's lost her mommy at Wal-Mart.

Where is he?

I grab my phone and call him right away. Maybe he's still in the parking lot, or he just needed some fresh air, or maybe he's just loading his truck and will be back in a minute. Yes, I'm sure he's around here somewhere. I count the rings as I hold the phone close to my ear, after the fifth ring I finally hear his voice, I smile but it's short lived as I immediately realize it's just a recorded message.

 _Hi, you've reached Deacon. Please leave a message._

"Hey, It's me. Where did you go? Call me when you get this? Okay, bye."

The girls and I stop to get some frozen yogurt at Cece's Sweets on the way home. Daphne said we needed to celebrate their Opry debut and apparently it ain't a real celebration if it doesn't cost you about five hundred calories a bite. I silently thank God she's too young to know how perfectly celebratory tequila can be. I wonder if they have a tequila flavored yogurt here as we make our way into the shop.

I look on as my younger one dumps half the toppings the store offers on top of her yogurt, it's like watching gummy bears and sour worms fighting for supremacy over that expanse of white chocolate mousse, Reese's puffs and Malt balls expertly used to fend the other off. Maddie makes a disgusted face when her sister starts her assault on the delicious concoction, five minutes later her spoon too is climbing its way up to the top of that mountain of sugar.

The girls are chatting up a storm, suggesting Instagram hashtags to one another as they proceed to post pictures of their treats online. I haven't touched my dessert yet, it is slowly turning into a pool of melted pink lemonade sorbet yogurt upon which faded M&M's and colored sprinkles float aimlessly. It's a sad scene, but it's probably not nearly as sad as the puppy-in-the-window look I am sporting right now, gazing out the multicolored glass window, hopelessly waiting for Deacon to miraculously appear down this street.

The car ride home is unusually quiet, Daphne is fast asleep in the backseat, Maddie is on her phone texting away. If her smile is anything to go by, Colt is probably on the receiving end. My mind travels back in time, to my teenage years, when texting, facetiming and snapchatting weren't a thing, hell even cellphones weren't a thing back then. I remember all too well the hours spent waiting by the phone, intensely staring at it like it would make it ring faster. Deacon used to make Beverly call to the house so that Theresa, our Governess, wouldn't suspect a thing, and then put him on the phone as soon as the call was passed through to my room. We didn't have to come up with such silly tricks for long though, my dad kicked me out of the house about six months later. Still, I remember how fast my stomach would fill up with butterflies at the sound of his voice whenever he called, how different and somehow sweeter he sounded coming through the receiver, how insanely happy I was after we'd hung up. I jerk the car to a stop before the light turns red and grab my phone.

 _Hi, you've reached Deacon. Please leave a message._

I sigh and put the phone back down. Fuck technology.

Half an hour later Daphne and Maddie are both in bed and I'm two glasses into my freshly opened bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. It's been a long day, an intense exciting and emotionally long day, I deserve the company of this sweet old friend. It's close to midnight and Deacon has yet to call me back. I check my phone once again, no missed calls, no texts, nothing. It's like he's vanished into thin air. I shoot him the fourth text of the night, asking him where he is. I don't know what makes me hope that this one too won't go unanswered just like the previous three. I close my eyes and take another sip of my wine, struggling to keep grim thoughts at bay. I reach for the phone again and punch in his house number for the second time in the past ten minutes.

 _Hi, It's Deacon and Scarlett. You know what to do._

"Deacon? Are you there? Please, if you're home, pick up the phone? Please."

I reckon I sound desperate and lonely, and - make no mistake - I am. I try his cellphone for what feels like the hundredth time and am greeted by that damn machine once again. He's not home. It's midnight and he's not home. AA meetings usually don't last past 11pm, if that, there's only so many places he could be at this hour of the night.

I know what is about to happen, I can feel it coming.  
My heart starts pounding in my chest, my stomach twists into a knot and suddenly my breath comes out in small puffs. I know this feeling all too well, I've lived with it for many years. Thoughts start gathering into my head like rows of dark clouds threatening to make it pour at any moment. I look around and I don't recognize my surroundings, all of a sudden I can hear again the echo of voices long silenced. Pure and utter panic assaults me.

 _He's gone on a bender. You shouldn't have asked him to sing with you. You pushed it too far.  
_ _He wasn't ready for this. He's gonna hurt himself. You ruined it all. Maddie is never going to forgive either one of you now.  
_ _He left you. He chose the bottle over you. Again._

I put the glass down and grip the counter tightly gasping for air. I lean my weight on it and work on controlling my breathing. I feel like I'm choking, it's like the air won't get past my throat and to my lungs. I tell myself that I am obviously painting the worst case scenario here. He's not gone. He didn't leave me, he wouldn't do that now. There is no reason to panic like this. This isn't the '93 Ohio State Fair again, he didn't bail on me. He wouldn't do that to me. We have Maddie now. Deacon's changed, he's a different man.

Despite my best efforts to calm myself down, I feel warm tears welling up before my eyes and realize I don't have the strength to fight them back.

I cry because I don't know what else to do. I cry because I want to cry. It hurts to have to live again with the fear that he'll start drinking and fuck it all up. I've been there so many times, I've gotten my hopes up and then watched them crash and burn. I've let him hurt me so many times, so many, and yet I don't know how to stop this cycle. I'm so angry at myself right now, what was I thinking? What made me think that he would actually commit to me and to our family? He has always made me promises he couldn't keep, what made me think that he would keep his word this time?

I try again.

 _Hi, you've reached Deacon. Please leave a message._

I start sobbing. It grows louder and louder with every breath I can't catch. This hurts, and it hurts just as much as it did the first time he ever left. I'm not sure I can do this.

I wake up with a jolt. I curse under my breath as I try to straighten up my back, the stiffness in my neck and left shoulder sends a wave of pain right down my spine. I take my surroundings in, yes I've definitely fallen asleep at the kitchen counter.  
I reach for my phone, there's a couple texts from Bucky, a bunch of new emails I probably won't get to until Monday, and still nothing from Deacon. I take the bottle of wine and empty what's left of it into the sink, then I head upstairs.

As I walk past the mirror in the hallway I take a look at myself. My not-so-waterproof-after-all mascara has left sticky black lines down my cheeks, my blue eyeliner is all smudged below my waterline and my eyes are red and puffy. That one layer of foundation I applied earlier has now settled into thick lines on the sides of my mouth and between my brows, making my wrinkles look abysmally broader and deeper. I look old. And I look tired. And most of all I look just as hopeless as that twenty-one year old who had to play an entire set acapella at the Ohio State Fair in '93.

 _Hi, you've reached Deacon. Please leave a message._

"Hey, me again. Listen, I don't know where you are or what you're doing right now, but I'm worried here and I just need to know you're okay. It's alright if you don't feel ready to talk yet or whatever, just let me know you're okay. Please."

I put the phone down on my nightstand and lie down in bed. I don't bother to take the bedspread, or my boots for that matter, off. I'll be on the road in a couple of hours anyway. I lied, I know exactly where he is. I just hoped he wouldn't need to hide from me at this point in our lives.

I really thought we had it all figured out this time. Sure there's a shit ton of stuff we need to talk about and discuss in details, but I thought we'd finally gotten there. For some stupid reason, I convinced myself that we reached that place where there's no turning back and running away, where there are no empty bottles and empty marriages to hide behind. I really thought we'd get it right this time.

I was a fool for believing he would ever truly change. An addict doesn't stop being an addict just because his breath doesn't smell like cheap booze and his wallet no longer serves as a pill case. I've heard this over and over again at Al-Anon meetings through the years. Just because alcohol is no longer part of his coping mechanism it doesn't mean his coping mechanism has changed, you're just detracting the life threatening factor out of the equation. Those demons may not be on Deacon's back anymore, but they'll always follow him around like a shadow and influence his choices. He's hiding out again now, just like he did when he found out about Maddie's paternity or when he found out about Whatshername and Teddy's tryst. That's all he knows how to do, that's how he copes.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he's not ready to be a husband and a father like he said. Maybe those wounds haven't healed properly yet and we just sprinkled some salt on it with our little old song tonight. Maybe...maybe...maybe. I'm sick and tired of maybes and what ifs. I want to try and say I failed, I want to fight and lose this time, I don't want to run.  
I am done running.

I'm not that scared twenty-one year old anymore. I don't need Deacon in my life like I used to, I've learned to go on without him, I could do it again if I had to. I just don't want to.

I don't want to live without him. It's as simple and as complicated as that.

 _Hi, you've reached Deacon. Please leave a message._

* * *

 ** _TBC_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is my personal take on episode 316, my very own fill-in-the-blank(et)s. Enjoy!**

* * *

Rayna knows.

We cry together holding each other tight for what feels like an eternity.

Eternity. That word again.

What seemed like a blessing in the beginning has strangely become nothing short of a curse. That wooden cut out Rayna bought at a thrift shop in Chattanooga was the very first thing I put into this house. I hung it up above the door before I showed Rayna the place. We didn't have any furniture in our old place at first or bare necessities such as a bed or some flatware, but we would fall asleep on the cold floor looking up at that sign every single night and we knew we had everything we could ever need. Now it just stands there, looking down on us, a testament to all our could have beens and should have beens.

What was for a long time just a mockery of our past, in a twisted turn of events, has now become a mockery of our future as well.

* * *

Deacon has cancer.

I take his hand in between mine and squeeze it firmly, it's warm and strong and callous, just like always. His eyes are clear and his irises as blue as ever. He doesn't look tired or beaten. One could never guess, just by his appearance, that something inside him is eating him alive. So why do I feel so guilty? I couldn't have known, he doesn't show any signs of illness. He looks strong and handsome and clean - goddamnit, he is clean.

It's all so overwhelming, I can't wrap my head around this. How can he be sick? He hasn't had a drop in so long, why did he have to get sick now? Why now? And why did he keep it from me? Why didn't he say a word? How did I not figure out something was wrong with him? How is any of this possible? I feel tears pricking my eyes again and a broken sob escapes my lips. Deacon's hand quickly reaches up to my face, the pad of his thumb devotedly brushes away a tear that falls down the corner of my eye.

"It's okay," he says reassuringly, encouraging me to let it all out.

So I do. I throw myself at him again, wrap him in my arms and weep against his shoulder with all I am.

I pull myself together only to breakdown again another four times before I'm completely spent. Deacon walks me to the couch and gently pushes me down to sit. I've cried so much and so hard, I now feel nauseous and dizzy. I lean my head against his arm for support and thread my hands around his bicep.

I hold on to him, because that's all I know how to do right now.

* * *

I told Rayna she can't be by my side through all this, that this is my choice and she's going to have to accept it.  
And then I obviously fled the scene faster than a hit and run driver.

I couldn't stand to see the look on her face, one that was a mixture of hurt and disappointment. It was too much. This is exactly why I can't fight this battle with her by my side, I can't watch her watch me die. If anything, it's only going to kill me faster.

I start chopping wood to make a fire, she's probably freezing in there. I haven't turned the heat on in the house in so long, for all I know smoke and dust would come out of the radiators.

It's early March, the air is crisp and the sky gloomy as though fall is about to end and winter about to begin. There's no spring flavor in the air whatsoever, no flowers getting ready to bloom or trees about to rejuvenate with colors. There aren't any more new beginnings awaiting at the horizon for the barren nature surrounding me, than there are for my sick self.

I am starting to hear the distant notes of this melody fading in, now that I've told Rayna. This is when my solo begins.

* * *

This house has never felt so enormous to me as it does right in this moment. I feel like I'm being swallowed up by it.

I begin walking around the room, examining various objects that my eyes fall upon. Dot is in her usual spot by the fireplace, polished and shiny just as if she hasn't been there for every mile we've travelled, for every stage we've shared, for every memory we've made.  
I can spot my mom's favorite Rosemary Clooney vinyl on the second shelf of the bookcase all the way from across the room, it's next to Deacon's precious autographed copy of "Okie From Muskogee". I walk towards what used to be our bedroom and freeze mid-stride when I enter the room.

It looks so different from what I remembered. The pictures on the dresser are gone, except for one picture of Maddie and Deacon that I've never seen before. There's a bunch of old magazines and music sheets where those frames used to be. There used to be a white thin curtain that hung off the ceiling and went all around our bed, it's gone too now. I remember how I used to fall asleep to that incessant soft whoosh the fabric produced when that jasmine scented summer breeze blew in through the windows at night, a godsend for our conjoined hot sweaty bodies. New lamps now sit on both nightstands, they're black and absolutely hideous. I wonder what happened to the ones I picked. Or to that curtain. Or to our pictures.

The room is a mess. Deacon's dirty clothes and shoes are all over the floor giving it the resemblance of a minefield, his black shirt and vest are hanging off the bathroom door knob, the bed is unmade on his side and judging by the thick layer of dust that lays atop the furniture he hasn't been here in awhile. I collect Deacon's scattered clothes from the floor and start folding them. I stop from time to time to bury my nose in a flannel or a t-shirt, I fill my lungs with that distinct smell and rub the soft fabric against my face for a second. How I've missed this routine every morning.

The force of habit brings me to open the first drawer of the dresser so I can start to put away his clothes. I gasp when I notice the drawer is still home to some of my clothes. Deacon didn't move any of my stuff apparently. There's an old Rolling Stones t-shirt I used to sleep in way back when, a couple of hoodies that used to keep me warm during many cold Tennessean winters, a red Christmas jumper I bought for our very first Christmas at the cabin along with a matching one for Deacon, there's even some lingerie stashed far back in the corner. I didn't even remember that I'd left some of my stuff here. I don't think I've ever properly moved out of this place now that I think about it. Deacon and I got into an ugly fight right before his fourth stint in rehab, I remember packing some of my stuff and leaving in a hurry right after. I didn't care what I left behind, I was leaving Deacon behind, there was nothing that I could ever need more.

Unwillingly I put his clothes away in the second drawer of the dresser and direct my attention to the bed. The right side is perfectly made and that sight alone is enough to break my heart. This is still our bed. No matter how many years have passed since the last time I slept in it, I still feel that gut-wrenching feeling of belonging towards it. I walk around the bed and sit on my side, the net beneath the mattress still squeaks when you sit on it, indisputable evidence of the good use this bed was put to over the years. I must be a glutton for punishment for I lay down for a moment and let my eyes wander around the room, just like I used to do every morning when I woke up in this bed. I don't know why, but the world always looked a little less daunting, a little less intimidating when I looked at it from here. How I used to love this place, It was my safe haven. Now it's just a faded photograph of the life we created, another piece of that broken dream.

I can't help the impellent need to make this bed, the desire to pretend nothing's changed and I still have a right to be in this house, to take care of him and of things around here. I pull the white cotton sheet back first and then lay the quilt Deacon's aunt made for us, I don't know how long ago, on top of it. It's brown and beige and if you look at it for more than five seconds that pattern will damage your sight for good, but Deacon loves it and I never had the heart to tell him I was afraid it would come to life at night and choke me to death. I pull the white duvet back and on top of it and fold the sheet over its top edge. That's when I see it: that brownish coffee stain that I gave Deacon hell for for weeks. I was so mad at him for ruining that duvet, it cost us a pretty penny and, despite all my best efforts, I was never able to remove that stain. He spilled coffee on it during one of our early morning sex inspired writing sessions. Between coffee splotches and ink stains this duvet didn't get to see many clean days in this house.

I walk into the bathroom to discard Deacon's dirty clothes into the hamper. I catch a bottle of perfume on the cabinet above the sink with the corner of my eye. My stomach twists into a knot at the thought of whom it may belong to. Deacon would never bring another woman up here, would he? I throw the socks into the lidless hamper and vehemently grab the bottle. It's empty. I turn it in my hands and examine it, the name of the brand is covered by a thick layer of dust. I pull the cap off and bring it to my nose. A smile settles on my face. This used to be mine. I haven't used this perfume in so long, seventeen maybe eighteen years. I can't believe he's kept this empty bottle here all this time. I can't help my curiosity, so I start looking through the stuff inside the cabinets below the sink, you'd think a woman still lived here by taking a look into them. There's a row of half empty bottles of shampoos, conditioners, body lotions of different kinds, body scrubs, bath salts and so on. My combs and brushes are all still here right beside his rarely used razors and shaving cream. Subconsciously my eyes wander to the back of the cabinet, there is not one single bottle hidden behind the sink's pipe and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Walking back into the living room I notice I'm shivering, I rub my hands together to warm myself up a bit. It's cold in here. I walk to the stove and fetch a kettle, pour some water in it, then put it on the stove and turn it on. I look around the kitchen and immediately spot the can where we used to keep our tea bags. I scold myself, there hasn't been a "we" or an "us" or an "our" in this house for a very long time, yet everything suggests the opposite. There's his and hers towels in the bathroom, all the kettles and pots I carefully picked are right where I left them; there are more half burned out magnolia scented candles scattered around the living room here than in my living room at home. It's like time stood still in this place. Nothing's changed. It's almost like I never left.

I grab a mug from the cupboard and put the teabag in it before pouring hot water over it. There's so many memories we've made here. There's so many more to make. These four walls know secrets, I could hear them whispering them to me if I dared to close my eyes.  
It's probably more of a sacred place now than it ever was when I lived here. Maddie was conceived on that floor by the window. We did start a family here. We did realize that dream. I don't know why it's taken me so long to realize this.

I walk around the counter and sit on one of the stools. It's shaky under my weight and I almost spill tea all over my jeans as I bounce back and forth before finding some balance. I smile at first and then start laughing when memory brings back exactly what happened to that stool. I'd finally managed to kick myself free from Deacon's body trap after losing the first round in a tickle fight, when I ran away from him and knocked the stool down as I went. The poor guy chased after me and stumbled upon it and broke one of the stool's legs when he crashed down onto it. My God, I don't think I'd ever laughed so hard before. We tried to fix the stool best we could then, but it's been shaky ever since. Yet this stool, after all these years and despite what happened to it, still stands. And so do we.

This house has never stopped being a home to me and as I watch Deacon climb up the steps with a harmful of logs, I can clearly see that this man...well he's never stopped being my man either.

* * *

"It's noon, do you want to eat anything?" I ask Rayna as I gingerly step out of the house and into the porch.

"No, thanks."

She's been sitting on these steps for the past forty-five minutes. She never once glanced back into the house. I started a fire and told her to come in or she would catch a cold, still there she is, freezing her ass off. I've hurt her, I know I did, actually I meant to. If that's what it takes to protect her heart, then so be it.

"Well I'm making a couple sandwiches. I can't take my medicines on an empty stomach, so…" I trail off and then walk back inside.

It takes about five minutes or so, but then I hear it, the soft click of the sliding door behind me. I don't bother to turn around, this has slowly become a who's got more pride than who game and well, I'm a man. I hear her footsteps getting closer, but choose to focus on chopping this tomato instead. I feel her hand coming in contact with mine, I watch as her right palm softly sets above the back of my hand and her fingers clasp around my fingers. Her left hand circles around my torso and lands on my left hand, helping me keep that tomato in place. I watch as she lightly applies pressure to my hand and the knife comes in contact with the surface of the vegetable. Together we start chopping. One thick slice at a time. She presses her chest against my back as she reaches across the counter for a leaf of lettuce and then another, painfully slow. I can feel her heart beating behind me and mine starts beating a little bit faster.

"I'll take it from here," she murmurs, lightly shoving me to the side.

I don't object and move out of her way. Looks like she's won and I've lost, what else is new. I take a seat on the stool across from her at the counter and watch as she painstakingly prepares our meal. First she takes two slices of bread and cuts the crust off each one of them, I shake my head and laugh up my sleeve. She remembered.

"I will never understand you non-crust-eaters. And by you, I mean you and your daughter of course," she smirks knowingly.

I just nod and offer a little smile. She puts the sandwich together and I marvel at how naturally she moves around this kitchen, how familiar it all is to her. If the wrinkles on my face and the sprinkles of gray in my hair didn't give it away, no one could convince me sixteen years have passed since the last time she cooked in this kitchen, It's like time's never passed for her, she looks just as beautiful now as she did back then. I can't believe she's still here, tending to my sorry ass.

We eat in silence, without exchanging as much as a single word. I'm on high alert, every movement, every intake of breath of mine is thoroughly studied. Neither one of us tries to break through this wall we've put between us and for that I am all but thankful. After lunch Rayna proceeds to clean up the kitchen while I take a broom and wipe the living room floor clean of splinters and various pieces of woods.

Once again, we find ourselves cleaning up the other's mess.

* * *

I'm so mad at him, I want to bash that pretty face of his in.

He's so stubborn. The word stubborn itself can't possibly describe what a bullheaded person he can be sometimes. He's resolute, he says. Well Deacon, as far as I'm concerned, you can shove your resolution up your ass. What does it even mean he's resolute about this anyway? What? Am I supposed to just stand back and wait until he's declared cancer-free or - God forbid - dead? Am I supposed to just be a member of the audience for this? What the hell, no! I will not let him have his way.

I just feel so angry. At him, at life, at God, at everything and nothing in particular. I could smash his entire guitar collection to pieces. He doesn't deserve this, not that anyone could ever deserve cancer, but of all people he's surely the least deserving of this burden. He's been through so much already, he doesn't need to add cancer to his long list of things to feel responsible for. I can see right through him, he's beating himself up for this already by denying himself the opportunity to be with his family. In true Deacon fashion he's unknowingly inflicting this sort of self-punishment upon himself. He says Maddie won't be able to miss a life she's never known, but what I hear is he won't be able to get a taste of the life we could have had together all those years ago without damning himself to hell. Maybe he does want to protect Maddie, but all I see is a man who's trying to protect himself from the guilt and the agony of breaking his little girl's heart. And I get that. But it's just inevitable, Maddie's heart is going to shatter into a million pieces if something terrible happens whether he lets her be there for him or not. He's just going to have to accept that. We're already on borrowed time here, there is absolutely no need to waste any more. We're his family, try as he might, this is going to affect us all - one way or another.

There is absolutely nothing he can say or do that could push me away at this point. We've already gone to hell and back together, a few times too. I've fought so many battles by his side, I can't not be there for him this time too. I know this is different, I know that if we lose this battle we lose the war, but, God help me, I'd rather lose this war with him than win any other battle without him. I want to live that life we were always meant to have, I want us to be happy, even if only for a short time.

He's wrong. I cannot survive anything. I am not invincible. My breath catches in my chest at the mere thought of losing him for good, I can't even imagine my life without him in it. I can't change the past and I'll have to make my peace with that - hell, I can't change the future either this time around, but I can change our present and I'll be damned if I don't.

That son of a gun's got another thing coming. I'm not giving up on our life together, I never did and I'm not about to start now.

* * *

One thing they tell you over and over before they let you out of rehab is that you'll keep craving the taste of alcohol in your mouth for a long time, they tell you it's a bodily instinct. It's the damn truth. They never define how long a "long time" exactly is of course, but you've got your fair warning right then and there and that will have to do. I wasn't prepared for the physical pain that getting alcohol out of your system subjects you to, but eventually I overcame that pain and learned not to crave that burning sensation down my throat. I've found myself, on more than one occasion, desperate for a drink, but with time I discovered it wasn't a primal craving anymore, it was all in my head. My body was no longer addicted to it. It took me a while, but I finally got alcohol out of my system.

I wish someone had told me before Rayna left me that I would keep craving the taste of her lips on mine for a long time. This is a bodily instinct too, probably stronger than any other I've ever experienced. I wasn't prepared for the physical pain that watching Rayna kiss another man and raise a family with another man subjected me to and, unlike with alcohol, I never overcame it. I never learned not to crave the taste of her tongue in my mouth. I managed to throw away unopened bottles of expensive whiskey but held on tight to empty bottles of her perfume. No matter how many women I would sleep with and how many tastes I'd flavor, there was something about Rayna's taste that I just couldn't get out of my system. I would lie in bed at night, close my eyes and even after ten or twelve years, I would still be able to taste her on my tongue. My body never stopped craving her lips, her skin, her touch, all of her. She was in my veins and there was no rehabilitative facility that could have ever helped me recover from that particular addiction of mine.

As I take her head in between mine and bring her lips to my lips, I'm reminded exactly of why I was never able to get her out of my system. She's that first breath you take after being underwater for a while, it doesn't even come close to filling your lungs, but it opens your chest and it keeps your heart beating. Her hot breath spills into my mouth and it fuels a fire that has never been put out. It makes me want more of her. It's never enough, it could never be.

I don't know what the future holds, no one does. All I know is that when the day comes to leave this world, whenever that may be for me, I'll leave with her taste in my mouth and her name on my lips.

I'll leave this world alive.

* * *

Deacon is not a gentle lover. He never was. He leaves marks you'll have to cover up with make-up for days on end, and scratches on your body that'll make you cuss whenever you take a hot shower. He's not just a passionate lover, he'll consume you to the bone, that man.

Tonight's different though. Tonight he's a gentle lover.

Everything happens in slow motion, we savor and extend every moment for as long as possible. Surprisingly we manage to undress each other without breaking a zip, popping any seams or tearing up one single piece of clothing. It's definitely a change of scenery for us, but I welcome the change with good grace. We're rediscovering each other's body, it's a quest, an expedition led by our fingers and mouths.

I trace every curve of the taut muscles of his back with my fingernails, his muscles bunch at my touch and I come alive at the ministrations of his expert hands on my breasts. It still takes my breath away when he fixes me with that filled with lust stare of his. A shiver runs down my spine every time I see those eyes darken with desire, it's no different now from when I was sixteen. My knees always threaten to give way when he looks at me like that.

I circle his shoulders with both my arms and bury my head in the crook of his neck. A sigh of relief escapes my lips - I'm safe, I'm home. His scent fills the air that I breathe and I melt into him. There are no words that could ever express how much I have missed this.

"Hold me," I plead in a whisper to his ear.

And he obeys. His strong arms wrap around my torso, my chest crashes into his and I hold on to him tightly. After a moment, together we descend to the floor. For some reason we never seem to quite make it to a bed or a couch or any other comfortable surface, we always find ourselves on a floor somewhere.

Time's a-wastin'.

I crouch in his lap and wrap my hands around his neck. Our kisses are excruciatingly slow, It's a sensorial examination that involves the taste, the touch, the smell. He throbs and presses into me, the most delightful of all tortures known to humankind. A moan falls off my lips and into his mouth, my unspoken surrender to him.

The muscles of my stomach tense and quiver subsequently when he traces with his finger the waistband of the last piece of clothing that separates our bodies. He swirls his tongue around the hollow at the base of my neck. My breath rushes from my lungs, the friction produced by the thin wet layer of cotton that keeps us apart is slowly but surely driving me insane.

"Everything's still the same, nothing's changed," he peppers my shoulder with tender kisses.

I nod and bring his head up, capturing his lips with mine. I know exactly what he means. It's been so long, but our connection, this - all of this, was never broken. His hands are all over my body, my skin's fevered with anticipation as they land on my hips to finally free me.

I shiver and he wraps a blanket around our bodies, I tell him I'm not cold, he smiles up at me and smugly affirms that he knows. I shut him up with a kiss because he's in equal parts adorable and intolerable to my eyes. And because I can't help myself, I want him so bad.

Duly my body stretches and expands when it comes in contact with his. He's smooth like silk but cuts through me like a blade, I close my eyes and throw my head back letting him guide me through this sweet agony.

Our bodies meet as rhythmically as a wave crashes against the shore, it's a ceaseless motion that brings us together and pulls us apart. Every kiss of his mouth and every touch of his hand validates his unwavering devotion to me. He makes me feel cherished, worshipped even, like every inch of this body is a sacred land he needs to preserve and protect. No other man has ever made me feel this way. And how could they? I sold my soul to this devil a long time ago. I, with all that I am and all that I have, belong to Deacon.

He hits spots that I'd forgotten existed inside of me. We fit so well together, like we were made from the same mold. His teeth scratch the skin that covers my shoulder and his mouth closes around my shoulder blade. He bites and squeezes and kneads my flesh with all he has and I can feel my walls closing around him, each muscle milking the urgency that pulses between us. I'm not sure I can hold on for much longer.

He infuses life inside of me with every stroke and every thrust. If there is a life for me after Deacon Claybourne, I don't want to live it. I squeeze my eyes shut to prevent tears from falling down, but it's a desperate attempt.

I wrap myself tighter around him, my arms and legs holding him in a tight grip. I silently start crying. I cry for all our wrongs and all our rights, I cry for the rightful unfairness of it all.

He rests his forehead against mine, our labored breaths mingle together and we stop for a moment. Our eyes lock and his lips curve into a smile, "You made my life worth living. I got sober for you, baby. I'm gonna get better for you this time too. I swear to God, I will."

I forgot how this man can read me like a book. I start crying a little harder, a little louder and he muffles my sobs with his mouth. My tongue seeks entrance into his, he's like water after a drought to me and I drink him up until the very last drop. We come up for air breathlessly.

I tell him that I know he will, that I believe him and I have faith in him. And then I tell him that I love him, because that's what he needs to hear the most, and also because I'm afraid my chest will explode if I don't let these three words out. I say it once, twice, over and over again, every word encased in a kiss against his lips.

He starts moving again inside of me, only faster now, and I follow his pace, together we ride this wave of pleasure that wipes away every tear and somber thought. The right here and right now suddenly becomes exponentially more important than any tomorrow.

I beg him not to stop, to keep going. My pleas meet his hips' fervent promises. Throaty moans are echoed by strangled gasps and I lose my ability to think, my brain goes blank, all I can do is feel. I feel him filling me completely, I feel callous hands spread across my back, I feel his ragged breath leaving a trail of fire on the side of my neck. I come undone at his request, when my name falls off his lips followed by an urgent, "Come with me."

I can't catch a breath, I've lost all control over my shaking body. Everything disappears. A hot tingly sensation spreads from my core to my limbs. My toes and fingers curl and uncurl as I clench and unclench spasmodically around him. That's when I hear God's name bounce off the walls and reverberate throughout the room, I couldn't tell whose voice chanted it the loudest, mine or his. I smile wearily down at him, his lips are swollen and his hair's stuck to his sweaty forehead. My Goodness, could he be any more gorgeous? My lips brush against his, ever so slowly, and we sashay together for a while, spent but content.

Eventually Deacon grabs a couple of pillows from the couch and we lay down on the floor, our back resting against the small table, too tired and sore to move a muscle.

"You're beautiful," he says piercing me with that pair of blue eyes of his.

I blush bashfully and nuzzle the crook of his neck, hiding my face. He starts stroking my hair softly and I relax into him. Engulfed in his strong embrace we spend a few moments in silence, both closely listening to the other's heartbeat.

I've never heard silence quite this loud.

* * *

"What do you mean you're sick?"

Here come the words that I've been trying to run away from for so long.

"I have liver cancer."

I watch as Maddie flinches at the mention of the C word and turns to Rayna with questioning eyes. Rayna looks at me with a sorry look on her face and just nods, encouraging me to go on. I take Maddie's hand in mine and tell her all about my diagnosis, the transplant list and what my chances are. I lay all my cards on the table and helplessly watch as my little girl's face crumbles before she breaks down in tears.

Maddie repeats over and over that she doesn't understand, that I've been sober for a long time, that, "this doesn't make any sense." And I know exactly what she means, I know it's hard for her to wrap her head around this. She's always known me as uncle Deacon or Dad, she has no idea what drunk Deacon used to be like, she can't understand how precisely possible this is, what a great deal of sense this makes. And for that I thank God each and every day.

Daphne wraps her little arms around her sister and rests her head against her back. So precious this girl, so tenderhearted, she's trying not to break down to comfort her big sis, but the tears that roll down her own cheeks don't go unnoticed.

Rayna is trying to be strong. For them, for me, for all of us, but I know her resolution is faltering. One more "I don't want you to die" and she'll fall to pieces. I grab her hand and squeeze it in mine, she looks up at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me to make this all stop, to take this pain away. I wish I could, oh how I wish I could. This, right here, is the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life. There are no withdrawal seizures and daddy's beatings that could ever compare to the pain of this moment. My heart is breaking at the sight before my eyes.

Maddie is a sobbing mess, wrapped around her mother's chest, clinging with all her might to her. Daphne is dismally whimpering against her back, gripping her mama's hand tightly across Maddie's lap. I fall to my knees and enfold all three of my girls in my arms.

"Oh dad!" Maddie cries louder as her chest heaves against mine.

Both girls drape their arms around my chest and shoulders and hang on tight. I kiss both their heads over and over as Rayna's hand lovingly strokes my head and her eyes fill with tears.

"I'm s-sorry Deacon," comes Daphne's small voice, muffled against my chest.

I tell her she's got nothing to feel sorry about, that I'm the one who's sorry. I apologize for putting them through this and for making them cry. Daphne lessens her grip on me and looks up at me with puffy reddish eyes, "It's alright," she says, "we cry because we love you."

They ask all kinds of questions afterwards. Am I in pain? Do the medicines I take taste as bad as cough syrup? How long will I have to wait for a transplant? Are there any other treatments I can try? Can Maddie be my donor? And so on until they run out of questions to ask and tears to cry.

It's almost morning when I tuck a blanket tightly around my sleeping baby girl's shoulders and kiss her and her sister goodnight. I feel Rayna hand slip into mine and tug at my arm. I look up at her and she nods towards the hallway, signaling me to follow her. We walk down the hall, past her music room, towards what I discover to be a guest room. Without saying a word to each other we take our shoes off and climb into bed.

"I love you," she says nestling against my chest, one arm securely wrapped around my waist.

"I love you too, darling."

* * *

 **TBC**


End file.
